


you’re a sunflower

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: ““Why don’t you come skating anymore?” Miya asks first, simple but weighty.Reki stills for a beat before continuing, and when he speaks up, he doesn’t meet Miya’s gaze. “It’s just...” he starts then stops, trailing off, searching for the right word. Miya doesn’t know if he finds it, or settles for something less. “It’s just hard right now,” he says quietly. Still, even with his gaze fixed on the scrapes on Miya’s shin, Miya can see the edges of his smile, see how strained they look.”
Relationships: Chinen Miya & Kyan Reki
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	you’re a sunflower

Miya’s heart is pounding. The wind whips and pulls at his clothes, his hair, stings at his eyes. Picking up speed, he sinks lower in his stance, the world blurring by in his periphery. All he knows is the ache of breath held in his chest, the nervous clench of his heart. It’s just a matter of timing, he tells himself. Just a matter of technique. But it’s hard to hold onto any semblance of calm with a solid concrete wall at the end of the hill. He’s only picking up speed, daring himself not to slow for the turn. 

Every nerve itches and burns with the urge to pull back, to stop before he gets hurt again. He knows what pavement feels like, grinding under his cheek. He knows the unyielding force of that wall, the bone rattling hit. The memories are fresh and hurt like a press to a bruise when he lets his thoughts wander back to them. So, he blocks them out. He shuts out the thoughts, but the nerves are too stubborn to go. 

Miya commits anyway, steeling himself with a curl of his hands into fists before he steadies his stance. Closing his eyes for one beat, two, he blows out a breath. And when he opens his eyes again, the wall is eating up too much ground towards him, and he knows before he tries that he won’t make it. But, he has to try. With adrenaline and fear buzzing in his limbs, he flips his board around, tries to catch the curb on the deck and take the turn. And for just an instant, one fleeting moment, he thinks he might make it. But the bubble of hope is crushed when a wheel catches and his momentum sends him skidding across the pavement, hands going to protect his head on instinct, curling in on himself until his back hits the sturdy concrete with enough force he knows it’ll bruise. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes, laying on the ground, that the scraping he hears is his board sliding down the hill around the turn. Before, he’d gotten up to chase it, to catch it before it hit the bottom. Now, too many failed attempts in to count, it doesn’t quite seem worth it. Instead, he rolls over onto his back, looking out at the vast stretch of blue sky overhead. The sun is out, but a cloud drifts by to block the bottom half from view. 

When Miya brings a hand up to shield his eyes from the worst of the light, he realizes there are fresh scratches and scrapes on the backs of his knuckles, but he figures it’s better his hand than his face. He’s already had to patch up enough there, a patch of gauze just above one eyebrow and a green bandage stuck over the bridge of his nose. A resigned sigh falling past his lips, he throws an arm over his eyes, blocks out the sun. Blocks out the world for a minute. His limbs ache, and he can still feel the echo of the slight jar of wheels over rough pavement reverberating through them. All his collected cuts and bruises sting, and all of a sudden, he feels incredibly naive and stupid. He knew he couldn’t take the corner at the speed he wanted to, and yet he tried and tried and tried again, like a little kid too determined to know when they’re out of their depth. 

But all the same, it isn’t like he has a choice. If he wants to stand against the best—Adam and Snake, Cherry and Joe, Langa—he needs to be better. Faster. They’re outpacing him now, getting serious and stepping up to a league he can only dream of, for now. But he _knows_ , if he puts everything he has into his skating, blood and tears and all, he can reach them. And that’s what makes it all the more humiliating, falling like this, failing like this. Because he’s trying, and he can’t do what he needs to do to keep up. 

He doesn’t stand a chance in the tournament, not when it really comes down to it. He knows that. He can’t beat Langa. He can’t beat Adam. Snake is even faster than both of them. 

Absently, Miya notices the footsteps heading towards him, and hopes whoever they belong to will mercifully pass him by without comment. But when they come to a stop by his head, a shadow falling over him, he knows that’s out of the question. Giving a quiet sniff, he’s about to tell the concerned passerby he’s just fine and to go on their way, but the voice that meets him first makes his heart lurch into his throat. 

“Miya?”

Reki. 

Glancing up from the crook of his elbow, all it takes is a glimpse of red hair for Miya to know his ears aren’t playing tricks on him. Scrambling to sit up, he twists around to face Reki. Then, he gets to his feet, even though his limbs protest and ache. “What are you doing here?” he asks, then thinks better of it, but it’s the words are already out. He’s only been skating on the street, and it’s not too big a stretch to think Reki might walk past eventually. It isn’t a skatepark, or S, or anything like that. But he was just so surprised to see Reki that the question slipped out. It feels like a a really long time since Miya’s seen him. 

“I was running an errand for my mom,” he says, holding up a plastic convenience store bag in one hand, like Miya needs proof. Then, with the other, he holds out Miya’s skateboard in offering, the deck having picked up a few more scratches on its trip down the hill but otherwise no worse for wear. 

Miya dusts the dirt from his hands and takes it, mumbling a quiet word of thanks. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to ask, but the words are all tangled and knotted in his chest, too hard to force out. And, suddenly, shame prickles at his cheeks, blooms warm and pink across the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know how much, if any, Reki saw of his skating, but at the very least, he knows the outcome. He knows Miya failed, ending up on the ground with his board down the hill. And even if he knows he’s a technical step ahead of Reki in terms of skill, that doesn’t mean his approval is worth any less to Miya. 

Though, in the end, he’s spared from having to explain himself, or ask any of the tough questions on his mind, because Reki is the first one to speak up. Drawing a wincing breath in through his teeth, he looks Miya up and down. “Wow, you look pretty beat up,” he says.

Miya tips his chin up and pointedly fixes his gaze off to the side, but he can’t bring himself to deny it. Knee and elbow pads and a helmet can only do so much, and he still has a plethora of bruises and scrapes elsewhere. A little embarrassed, he wipes at the droplet of blood he can feel beading at his jaw. 

“Do you have any bandaids?” Reki asks with a curious tilt of his head. The concern in his gaze, his voice makes Miya’s stomach flip a little, and he can’t decide if he hates it, or if it’s kind of nice to be worried over for once. “I normally have some when I’m skating, but...” Reki says, trailing off. His expression crumples a little into something Miya doesn’t like. 

“Up there,” he says, waving a hand back towards the top of the hill. At the corner of the sidewalk, his backpack sits slumped against a railing. “But I’ll take care of it later.”

Some of the energy and conviction bleeds back into Reki’s demeanor, and with a determined glance, he takes Miya by the wrist and starts up the hill. “Taking care of yourself should always come before new tricks,” he says, sure of himself. Miya just tags along behind, following Reki’s pull. “You shouldn’t be reckless.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Miya returns. 

Reki just laughs a little, warm and bright, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. It makes Miya’s chest ache. He missed this. Nothing’s the same without Reki around, and he missed having someone to talk to like this. Miya likes everyone else too, he really does, but Langa’s pretty quiet most of the time, and Cherry, Joe, and Shadow are all adults, and it just feels different. He doesn’t want this—being with Reki and his sunny smiles, even dimmed as they feel now—to go away. 

Without any hesitation, Reki takes the liberty of rummaging through Miya’s backpack to find the small box of bandages and antiseptic he keeps on hand. Though, when he reaches out for Miya’s hand, the one with the scratched up knuckles, Miya pulls it back. “I’m not a little kid; I can do that myself,” he says. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s spent plenty of time over the years in bathrooms, at home or in convenience stores, washing out cuts or leaning over the sink to get a better look in the mirror to tape a pad of gauze over a scraped cheek. 

“Just let me help you,” Reki says, and the words come easy, with an earnest smile. 

In the end, Miya grumbles a little, but lets Reki take his hand when he reaches out again. 

The antiseptic stings, but as Reki moves from scrape to scrape, cleaning them out diligently and smoothing a colored bandaid over each one, Miya finds himself feeling better. The nerves wound tight in his chest loosen, and he can breathe a little easier. Reki finishes up with his hand, moves to the pinprick where some gravel bit into his jaw, then crouches down to clean up his shin. While he works, he’s quiet, brows furrowed in concentration, and every rub of his thumb, sticking down another bandage, is gentle and deliberate. The easy rhythm gives Miya the time and courage to pick apart his tangled thoughts. 

“Why don’t you come skating anymore?” he asks first, simple but weighty. 

Reki stills for a beat before continuing, and when he speaks up, he doesn’t meet Miya’s gaze. “It’s just...” he starts then stops, trailing off, searching for the right word. Miya doesn’t know if he finds it, or settles for something less. “It’s just hard right now,” he says quietly. Still, even with his gaze fixed on the scrapes on Miya’s shin, Miya can see the edges of his smile, see how strained they look. 

“Skating is fun. You told me that,” Miya says back. He brings his arms up, crossing them over his chest, and looks pointedly out across the hill. It feels a little like it’s taunting him, that wall at the end scuffed with marks from his board hitting it, his helmet and knee pads hitting it. 

The antiseptic stings again, as Reki goes over a new cut.

“It’s supposed to be,” he says, then stops, shakes his head. “It _is_ ,” Reki insists, his earlier conviction back. “But it’s frustrating, too,” he adds. “And painful,” he says when Miya flinches at the burn while he finishes up with the antiseptic. 

“But that doesn’t mean you quit,” Miya presses, something a little like fear seizing his chest. Too many people have quit around him, or left at the very least, joined different circles, skated with different people. So, he stopped caring, stopped letting people in. Because if no one got close, they couldn’t hurt him when they inevitably left, stepped out of reach. But, Reki convinced him to try again. Reki reminded him how much fun it was to skate with someone else. To skate with friends. And now he he’s leaving Miya too, just like everyone else. 

He doesn’t hear what Reki says next, if he says anything at all. Everything seems a blur behind the sound of his heart beating too fast in his chest. Words rise in his throat, and for a moment, he tries to bite them back. He wants to build back his walls, higher, taller than ever this time. Instead, just this once, he knocks them a brick lower. He cuts into his heart and lets the truth bleed out, if only because he’s sure that if he doesn’t, if he retreats again now, he will lose Reki for sure. 

“Langa isn’t the only one that misses you, you know,” he says quietly, and it feels vulnerable, exposed. But he tries. He tries to reach out, just like Reki did back in the beginning of all of this

Reki sighs, and it sounds a little hurt. Still, he just finishes bandaging the last of the scrapes on Miya’s shin, thoughtfully rubbing at the final bandaid once it’s stuck in place. Miya’s covered in a rainbow of them, green and blue on his face, purple and red on his hand, yellow and orange on his leg. He feels like a little kid, now, fighting the knot in his throat and staring down at the ground even as Reki stands back to his full height. 

“I know,” Reki says, gentle and soft and hurting, and it doesn’t make Miya feel any better. It only roils the upset collecting in his chest, the pit of his stomach, clouding behind his eyes. 

“Then why?” he asks, an outburst, too loud, too hurt and angry. There are tears, now, pooling in his eyes, and everything looks watery and blurred through them. “You promised me you’d never disappear, but you’re leaving just like the rest!”

For a moment, no one says anything more, and Miya can feel the anger ebbing away, leaving raw hurt in its place. Maybe he made a mistake, extending Reki this chance, this trust. Maybe he’s just opening himself up to more pain. But he stands, firm and steadfast, and waits, because he can’t take it back now. Reki has his trust in hand, and Miya is just waiting for him to snap it. 

A few tears slip in earnest, and he sniffs, but before he can wipe them away, swallowing at the knot in his throat, Reki nearly knocks him off his feet with a bear hug. Everything in him goes tense with shock for a moment, but he eventually relaxes into the touch, bringing his hands up to clutch in the fabric of Reki’s hoodie, somewhere over his shoulder blades. A shock of red hair takes over his vision and tickles his nose and Miya feels like he can finally let out a trembling breath, holding tight to Reki. And he doesn’t hesitate to wipe his eyes and nose on the sweatshirt, because Reki deserves it for trying to disappear on him. 

“I’m so sorry, Miya,” he says, genuine and raw. He squeezes a little tighter and the fresh, forming bruising on Miya’s back aches with it, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t say a word about it. 

“You’d better be,” he shoots back, still teary eyed but feeling lighter than he has in a while. 

They stay that way for a little while, every beat another assurance that Reki’s still here, he isn’t leaving just yet, and Miya doesn’t have to go back to being alone. Though, eventually, a car drives by, and embarrassment colors Miya’s cheeks, so he gently untangles himself from Reki’s hold, taking a few steps back. Pulling in a sharp inhale, he scrubs at his face with the back of his wrist, clearing away the last of the tears on his cheeks. Then, he lets the breath out. It feels like he exhales the darkness and anxiety clouding in his lungs with it, leaving everything fresh and new. 

“I still love skating, and I love all of you guys—you, Langa, Joe, Cherry, even Shadow. I promise I won’t disappear on you,” Reki says, the old, familiar spark back in his eyes. 

The sun is shining overhead, the clouds parted to let its light through. 

“You’d better make up with your boyfriend soon so you can come skate with us again,” Miya says. 

For his part, Reki just gives him a confused look, cocking his head in a way all too reminiscent of a puppy. 

“Didn’t you fight with Langa?” Miya asks, picking up his skateboard and swinging his backpack over his shoulder while he does. He’s done practicing for the day. Like Reki said, skating is supposed to be something you have fun doing, and there’s nothing fun about pushing himself to the breaking point. He’ll try again tomorrow, and when he does, he’ll skate the way he wants. Not like Adam. Not like Langa. Like Miya, because that’s the way he likes it. 

Reki still looks a little baffled by the time Miya’s gathered his things, but something like recognition glimmers faintly in his eyes. “Well, yeah, I need to talk to him, but he’s not my—“

“Just do it!” Miya calls, hopping on his board and heading down the hill towards home. This time, he slows enough to take the turn, and waves back at Reki from the bend. For the first time in a while, Miya feels like things will all work out. Because the sun’s shining now, and that’s just what they all need.

**Author's Note:**

> I went to bed thinking I would write some matchablossom with the recap info that Joe threw Cherry into the ocean, then woke up possessed by this idea, so here it is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I love renga as much as the next person, but Miya deserves some love too, so I thought I’d write his and Reki’s make up instead of a renga one. Miya needs his big brother back!


End file.
